Witness
by MyLadyScribbler
Summary: Follow-up to "Endgame:" Ducky goes to The Hague to testify in the war crimes tribunal against Mr. Pain, an experience that promises to be a difficult one for him. But one of the former refugees, someone Ducky helped years ago, recognizes him, and offers to help him in return.
1. A Visit From Trent

Mr. Pain, Ducky's old nemesis and tormentor, is going before a war crimes tribunal in The Hague to answer for his actions that led to the death of a young man in a refugee camp in the 1980s. Ducky has been invited to testify as a witness; it is an experience that he is not looking forward to. But while at The Hague, Ducky meets some of the former refugees, including one he helped years ago - and who offers to help him in return.

Needless to say, I have never attended a war crimes tribunal in The Hague, so some of the events in this story may not adhere exactly to real-life procedures. So I beg your indulgence on that score, gentle readers.

This picks up immediately where my previous story, "Endgame," left off.

 **Chapter One: A Visit From Trent**

Ducky looked at himself in the hotel room mirror, squared his shoulders and took a few deep, steadying breaths.

A dream, he told himself. It had all been just a dream.

The surroundings of his room – the bed, the night table and the wardrobe, the sunlight filtering in through the window, the early morning traffic noises coming from the street below – all seemed vaguely surreal.

Ducky had woken up that morning from a nightmare. A terrifying chess game, with his old nemesis Mr. Pain glowering at him from across the board, extracting some new painful secret from Ducky's memory with each move.

Black knight checkmates white king. Ducky had won…but now it was time for a rematch.

In a few hours, Ducky would face Mr. Pain again, not across a chess board, but across a tribunal chamber.

It was a moment that Ducky had both dreaded and waited impatiently for. On one hand, it meant an end to the pain and guilt he had been lugging around since Javid's death. But on the other hand, it meant dredging up memories he would have preferred to stay buried.

The Hague was waiting.

 _It's time, Dr. Mallard, it's time._

Ducky picked up his wallet from the night table and headed downstairs to the dining room.

As he entered, Ziva looked up and waved to him from a table near the fireplace, and he came over and sat down.

The table was set with a steaming silver pot of coffee, a pitcher of cream, a basket of rolls fresh from the oven and some tiny crystal bowls filled with butter and jam.

Ducky usually would have asked for his favorite Earl Grey. But the strong, rich aroma of the coffee beckoned to him, and he realized that he was unexpectedly hungry. He poured himself a cup and selected a roll from the basket.

"Need help?" Ziva asked, watching Ducky split open the roll one-handed.

"No, thank you, I've got it," Ducky said. He finished splitting the roll and dabbed some butter and jam on it. He took a bite and washed it down with some coffee, lost in thought.

"You'll do fine, Ducky," Ziva said. "This isn't the first Hague hearing I've been to. Mr. Pain's the one on trial, not you. And even if you were, there's nothing they can hold you on."

"That's not what worries me," Ducky said. "It's…well, the thought of sitting there, recounting everything that's happened while…" He swallowed as a faint shudder went through him. "While he's sitting there."

Ziva nodded and was about to say something else, when something caught her eye. A look of disgust crossed her face. "What is HE doing here?" she demanded.

Ducky looked over his shoulder, and felt a lump of dread drop into his stomach.

Trent Kort was standing in the dining room entrance, surveying the room with his usual boredom. He spotted Ziva and Ducky and slowly walked over. "Dr. Mallard," he said shortly. "Officer David."

"Trent. I'd say that we were happy to see you, but I'd be lying," Ziva said, equally shortly. "I suppose they asked you to testify on your old instructor's behalf?"

"I'm not here testifying on anyone's behalf, Officer David," Trent said, rolling his eyes.

"So you're here because The Hague is lovely in the springtime," Ducky said with no small amount of sarcasm.

"If it's any of your concern, and I suppose that in some small way it is, Dr. Mallard, I've been asked to give the tribunal a few insights on Jerek's behavior. Something to keep the psychologists entertained," Trent said.

"What do you plan to tell them?" Ziva asked.

"Nothing that you don't already know." Trent paused.

Ziva's frown deepened. "Out with it, Trent. We all know you didn't come over here to our table just to say good morning."

"Very well, then. There is something that I should tell you – consider it another waving of the olive branch, in a way." Trent leaned forward. "The CIA is none too thrilled that one of their former instructors has ended up before The Hague. If it is NCIS's testimony that sends him away, there could be repercussions."

"Is that a threat?" Ducky demanded.

"No. Merely a warning that relations between your agency and mine could get frostier, if that is even possible." Trent straightened up. "Good day to you both."

He left the dining room. Ziva fought the urge to throw the coffee pot at him.

Instead, she sat back down, fuming, as the feeling of dread in Ducky's stomach intensified.

The two of them finished their breakfast in silence and went out to the sidewalk just as a shiny black car pulled up to the curb. A man stepped out; his badge identified him as a member of The Hague's security detail.

"Dr. Mallard? Officer David?" he addressed them, gesturing for them to get into the car.

Ducky and Ziva climbed into the car. It pulled away from the curb and began a slow crawl through the city traffic.

 **xNCISx**

This is very much a work in progress. Reviews welcome!


	2. The Waiting Room

**Chapter Two: The Waiting Room**

After several minutes of weaving through the traffic, the car reached the sprawling complex of The Hague. Ducky began tugging nervously at the cuff of his suit jacket, and his heart began beating wildly.

 _"I'm taken from my home by federal agents. Brought to the Afghan government, and accused of war crimes," Mr. Pain's taunting voice said. "And after all that, it's just Ducky."_

"Ducky?" Ziva asked.

Ducky shook his head. "It's nothing, Ziva."

The car passed through the security gate and deposited Ducky and Ziva at the main entrance, where another security officer met them.

"This way, please," she said, leading them through a series of winding passageways.

It seemed to go on forever, deeper into the buildings. Staffers in dark suits and ties and councilors in their black robes walked past them at every turn. Their appearance made Ducky think of the ominous chanting chorus in a production of a Greek tragedy he had seen once.

Not a good sign, he reflected.

Finally, at a junction with several doors, they came to a stop. The hum of voices through a set of double doors told them that the tribunal was assembling inside.

"The proceedings will begin momentarily. Officer David, you may take a seat in the gallery," the security officer said crisply. "Dr. Mallard, there is a waiting area for the testifying witnesses. You will remain there until you are called."

Ziva gave Ducky a thumbs-up – she'd at least mastered that gesture – and headed through the doors to the gallery. Ducky took a deep breath and headed for the door to the witnesses' waiting area, and yet another security guard, silent and stern, nodded him through.

It was a comfortably appointed room, at least, with armchairs and tables, and a monitor on the wall connected to a closed-circuit camera in the tribunal chamber.

There were a few people there already. An old man, his beard almost completely white, sat in a chair near the door. He slowly turned to look at Ducky, a haunted look in his eyes, before slowly turning away.

Ducky found a seat in a far corner where he could be alone with his thoughts. Already, the old feelings of guilt and shame were starting to creep back up on him.

He felt it was best not to try to identify himself to any of the former refugees. He didn't know how they would react to his presence.

How many of them knew about him and Javid? Would any of them curse him, like Mosuma Daoub had?

In the opposite corner, two women were speaking in subdued tones. The elder one, old enough to be a grandmother, wore a headscarf and a slightly threadbare overcoat, and she spoke softly but emotionally. The younger woman wore a plum-colored suit, and her dark hair was pulled up in a business-like knot. A series of gold and silver bracelets on her wrists jingled when she moved her hands.

Ducky strained his ears to catch the women's conversation. It was in Dari, it sounded like. He continued listening, trying to pick out the words he knew.

There were a few other people, mostly men, who had a military bearing. Former RAMC personnel, Ducky guessed, but he didn't recognize any of them. If any of them recognized him, they didn't show any signs of it.

More witnesses came in, and Ducky guessed that most of them had been refugees in the camp. Some came wearing traditional Afghani clothing, while others came in Western dress. They spoke a variety of languages: English, French, Dari, Pashto and Urdu.

Several of them wanted to speak to the woman in the plum-colored suit. And she spoke to them decisively, with optimism.

Ducky wondered who she was. An interpreter, maybe, or an advocate. Maybe someone who worked with Amnesty International.

She looked familiar somehow, and Ducky tried to figure out where he had seen her before.

Was she a former refugee herself? But if she had been in Jalozai at the time Mr. Pain had been there, she would have been...no more than a child, Ducky guessed. Eight, maybe, or nine?

The woman paused in mid-sentence and turned to look at Ducky through horn-rimmed glasses. There was a look of recognition in her eyes. But it wasn't angry recognition.

But just as she was about to walk over, the announcement came that the tribunal was now starting.

A dark-suited member of The Hague's administrative staff came in and began giving instructions to each of the witnesses. Each of them would be called one at a time, and they would have the option to testify either in the chambers or in a separate room via a closed-circuit monitor, if they preferred.

Ducky looked at the monitor, and heard himself gasp.

Marcin Jerek had entered the chambers, accompanied by his legal counsel. He wore a bespoke gray suit, and his beard and hair had been trimmed.

Jerek looked in the direction of the camera that fed into the monitor, his good eye acting like a laser beam, and he smirked. It was as if he knew Ducky would be watching on the other end.

I've been waiting for this, Dr. Mallard, he seemed to be saying. And I intend to enjoy it.

Ducky shook his head and turned away.

The tribunal members in their robes – black for the ordinary members, red for the senior presiding members - entered the chamber and ascended the dais. There was the call to order.

"This is the International Criminal Tribunal for the Jalozai Refugee Camp in Pakistan," the lead judge on the tribunal began. "This tribunal concerns the allegations against Marcin Jerek, concerning his actions in the Jalozai refugee camp in Jalozai, Pakistan, from May 1980 to February 1982."

Jerek's counsel stood up and introduced himself as John Creighton. "My client was brought in to do important work in a volatile area, in the interests of international security," he said primly. "I trust that this tribunal's verdict will reflect that."

Ducky's mouth was dry and his breathing was shallow as the opening remarks continued. He helped himself to a cup of water from a cut-glass pitcher set on the table.

The first witness went in, a senior officer who had been among those arranging to have Jerek brought in to the camp.

About ten minutes later, the second witness went in: the grandmother figure. She broke down sobbing at the witness table as she described, through an interpreter, how her son had committed suicide after years of being haunted by what Mr. Pain had done to him.

The minutes seemed to pass by in a haze, as people were called in one by one.

Finally, at half-past ten, the call came.

"The tribunal now calls as its next witness Dr. Donald Mallard."

 **xNCISx**


	3. Ducky Speaks

Here is the third chapter - I was delayed with other deadlines, so this had to wait. Additionally, this was a very difficult scene to plan out and to write.

 **xNCISx**

 **Chapter Three: Ducky Speaks**

There was a murmur through the chambers and the corridors as Ducky's name was called, and some of the other witnesses in the waiting room looked at him expectantly.

Clearly, there were a lot of people eager to hear what Ducky had to say.

Taking a deep breath, Ducky walked into the chambers. He could feel all eyes on him as he came through the doors: the tribunal members on all sides, looking down at him; the interpreters, security guards and staff; quietly efficient in the background, but watching everything through wide eyes.

The gallery was filled with onlookers; Ziva had managed to find a seat near the front.

Jerek and Creighton watched Ducky as he came in. The look in their eyes was that of a hungry crocodile watching a wildebeest approaching the riverbank.

Ducky quickly averted his eyes from them as he walked to the witnesses' table, hoping that no one could see that his hands were starting to tremble.

He came to stand behind the table, and the microphone was switched on.

The lead tribunal member looked fairly benign, like a senior office clerk or some assistant vicar at a church.

"Do you testify that the testimony that you are about to give is truthful and correct, to the best of your knowledge?" the tribunal leader asked.

"I do," Ducky said.

"Thank you. Please be seated."

Ducky pulled out the chair at the table and sat down.

"Will you state your name and present affiliation for the record, please?"

Ducky took a deep breath. "My name is Donald Horatio Mallard. I am presently the chief medical examiner for the United States Naval Criminal Investigative Service in Washington, D.C.," he said. "At the time of the events related to this tribunal, I was a captain with the British Royal Army Medical Corps regiment stationed in the Jalozai refugee camp."

As Ducky spoke, images filled his mind, of medical tents and make-do hospitals filled with the sick and the injured of the camp. Some hopeful, others on the brink of despair.

The tribunal leader straightened in his chair and folded his hands on the table in front of him.

"Tell us, Dr. Mallard, how you came to be acquainted with Mr. Jerek."

 _"Dr. Mallard, we have someone who needs a physical. It's that fellow who's working with the CIA," the orderly said. "He's a strange one, Mr. Jerek."_

 _"Do you play chess, Dr. Mallard?" Jerek asked as Ducky finished writing up Jerek's report._

 _"Why, yes, I do. I'm not quite grandmaster status, but I can hold my own," Ducky had said._

 _"I see," Jerek said slowly, thoughtfully. "I brought a set with me. If you would care to join me for a game in your free moments, I would be most obliged."_

"He was a very quiet, almost-soft-spoken man," Ducky said, "but on the chessboard, I could see that he was highly aggressive. He could catch you unawares if you let your guard down."

The tribunal members made a few notes on legal pads provided for that purpose.

"Dr. Mallard," the tribunal leader said, "please tell us what happened with the young man Javid."

Oh, God, Ducky thought. Here it comes.

"He was brought to me in the medical tent on the twenty-ninth of August," Ducky said, shuddering as the memories came rushing back. The smells of antiseptic, masking the smells of infected wounds, blood, pus and gangrene. "It was the first of three times that he was brought in, and always to me."

 _Javid had been in agony. The wounds on his chest had begun to fester._

 _They were in the exact same places. Someone had deliberately cut through each one of Ducky's sutures, and added a few new wounds for good – bad? – measure._

 _"Those wounds. They need antibiotics," Ducky had said._

 _"Don't send me back to him!" Javid had begged, sobbing. "Don't send me back to that monster!"_

 _What monster?_

 _"Him!" Javid sobbed. "Mr. Pain!"_

"I didn't know what he was talking about at first. I thought he was delirious from the pain," Ducky said. "But then I started making inquiries among the camp personnel. And among some of the other refugees."

 _"Oh, yeah, that's what they all call Jerek," one of the orderlies said._

 _"He takes our children and rips them to shreds," a woman had said, weeping._

"I tried to keep Javid in my care for as long as possible. To delay having to release him from the medical tent back into the camp's general population." Ducky's voice shook.

 _"I'm waiting, Dr. Mallard," Jerek had said one day outside the medical tent. "Have you not tended to your patient yet?" He tried to step into the tent. "May I speak with him?"_

 _"No. Not while he is in my care," Ducky had said harshly._

 _"Dr. Mallard, I should caution you that your behavior is not meet or fitting for a decorated army doctor," Jerek had said smoothly._

 _"Get out of here, Jerek!" Ducky had snapped._

 _And Jerek was there waiting, every day that Javid was in Ducky's care. "I'm waiting, Dr. Mallard."_

Oh, Ducky had tried to raise the alarm. He definitely had.

 _"Major, do you realize what Jerek is doing?" Ducky had demanded to his commanding officer._

 _"We're at war, Captain Mallard," Major Farnham had said._

 _"But what he's doing! It's inhumane! It's savage! It's…"_

 _"Marcin Jerek is doing his duty, Captain Mallard. I suggest that you do yours." The major's steely tone suggested that that would be the last word on the subject._

 _I always did my duty, Ducky often thought years afterward. I always did what was asked of me…_

"Javid was in great pain. I'd tried to have him transferred out of the camp for humanitarian reasons but was denied. Jerek was nipping at my heels every single day, and my superior officers were telling me to get Javid treated and back into the camp as quickly as possible. It got to the point," Ducky said, "where I could see only one option."

 _"Javid, I cannot hold back Jerek forever," Ducky said. "I've tried everything."_

 _"Everything?" Javid asked._

 _Everything, except one thing. Ducky never would have considered it under normal circumstances. Oh, but who knew what was normal anymore?_

 _"Javid, do you know what morphine is?" Ducky asked, trying to hide the shaking in his voice._

 _"Yes. It is a medicine…one that brings sleep, one that takes away pain," Javid said._

 _"It can also kill." Ducky looked Javid in the eye. "Javid, if I give you a large enough dose, you will die."_

 _Javid stared up at the tent, contemplating this._

 _"My family? My mother, my two little sisters?"_

 _"They have been transferred out of the camp."_

 _Javid let out a deep sigh of relief. "At least they are safe…that's all I ever wanted." Then he looked Ducky in the eye, and weakly held out his arm. "Do it."_

 _Hands trembling, Ducky reached for the syringe and the bottle of morphine._

"On October 14, 1980, I administered a lethal morphine overdose to Javid."

 **xNCISx**

Reviews welcome.


	4. Two Horns

Chapter four is finally posted - I had to get several things out of the way first. And this, like chapter three, was a very hard chapter to plan and write.

 **Chapter Four: Two Horns**

There was silence in the chambers. A few people in the gallery were reaching up and dabbing at their eyes with tissues.

Only Jerek and Creighton appeared unmoved. Jerek had a cold, mocking smirk on his face as he whispered something in Creighton's ear.

Ducky resumed speaking, describing how he'd told his commanding officer – who hadn't even paid much attention to Ducky's report on Javid – and tried to get back to some sense of normalcy. But it was impossible.

"I returned to England in the winter and resigned my commission. I began my training as a medical examiner after that," he said.

One of the tribunal members looked up from their notes. "The circumstances involving Javid's death. Have these ever been addressed before…"

"We have documentation here from the Afghan ambassador to the United States, concerning an incident that took place earlier this winter," another member held up a piece of paper. "And we also have a letter from Javid's sister, Mosuma Daoub, who…"

"Permission to address the witness," Creighton interrupted.

"Granted, Mr. Creighton. But I should warn you to exercise a degree of courtesy," the tribunal leader said coldly.

Creighton stood up and walked over, slowly and deliberately. The black barrister's robes he wore over his tailored Savile Row suit billowed with each step he took.

"Physician, heal thyself," he said aloud to the room, before turning his gaze to Ducky. "Dr. Mallard, it was very nearly you sitting where my client is now," he said smoothly.

"Mr. Creighton, you have been cautioned about this once before," one of the tribunal members said severely.

"Yes, please excuse me." Creighton cleared his throat. "Dr. Mallard, you have admitted to giving the lethal morphine dose to Javid."

"I have," Ducky said. "At the time, I sincerely believed that there was no other way to save him from your client torturing him."

"Was it really torture?" Creighton asked aloud. "Or was it interrogation of a possible combatant, the work that my client had been commissioned to do?"

"That's a very interesting term you have for slicing an innocent man's chest to ribbons," Ducky's blood was beginning to boil.

"In the grander scheme of things, is that truly the worst thing?" Creighton turned again and looked Ducky square in the eye. "How about a younger sister who wanted someone to blame for her brother's death?" He suddenly planted his palms on the witness table with a very audible thump. "It was Javid's sister who gave you that knife wound," Creighton said, pointing to Ducky's hand. "She blamed you all these years for her brother's death, and rightly so."

Ducky involuntarily flinched as a spasm of pain went through his right hand.

"And here you sit, trying to salve a guilty conscience, and acting like everything is beyond your control. You really did have a choice, didn't you, Dr. Mallard," Creighton leaned in closer. "And you chose wrongly."

"I should caution you, Mr. Creighton, that Dr. Mallard is not on trial here. Your client is," one of the tribunal members said coldly.

"Then why isn't Dr. Mallard on trial? My client never killed anyone, but this man did! Surely that merits some form of censure!" Creighton shouted.

"We have the letter here from Ambassador Saydia from the Embassy of Afghanistan in Washington, D.C. He was a witness to the discussion in question between Dr. Mallard and Mr. Jerek in January of this year," one of the tribunals said. "The ambassador, in a sworn statement, testified that Mr. Jerek admitted to torturing the young man, with the ultimate goal of inflicting psychological torture on Dr. Mallard."

"My client's statements in the embassy should not have been admissible in a legal setting," Creighton said sharply.

"Your client had been detained by federal agents, and those agents were watching from the next room, in the company of embassy officials."

"I did what was asked of me. One life, to save thousands," Jerek intoned. "I did the work for which I was trained and entrusted." He slowly turned to face Ducky, like a snake preparing to strike. "There is no room for playing heroics in a field of war," he hissed. "You were a weak, green stripling of a doctor, woefully unprepared for the work you were tasked to do, and an obstacle to my good work."

"Mr. Creighton, control your client!"

"Your good work?" Ducky demanded as he rose to his feet. "You used human beings as lab rats in your own perverse experiments! You played with people's lives and emotions!"

"Dr. Mallard, sit down!" one of the tribunals shouted.

"You enjoyed watching those people suffer at your hands!"

"Dr. Mallard!"

Ducky slumped back into the chair and dropped his head into his hands.

A dilemma, it had been.

It came from the Greek word for two horns. And in Ducky's case, he'd been caught between the two horns of a particularly fearsome beast.

Give Javid a lethal injection of morphine, and violate the Hippocratic oath. Or treat his infection and send him back to Mr. Pain, to repeat the vicious cycle until Javid finally died.

"Major Thorpe, there was a record of Dr. Mallard's request to have Javid and his family transferred?" one of the tribunals asked of the British army officer who'd testified earlier.

"Yes, there was," Thorpe said flatly from where he sat at a nearby table.

"Why was it denied for Javid himself?"

Thorpe hemmed and hawed for a moment or two. "Mr. Jerek's superiors intervened. Said that Javid presented a security risk."

Another moment of silence in the chambers.

"Is there anything further that you wish to say, Dr. Mallard?" the tribunal leader asked.

"There is." Ducky turned and looked Jerek square in the eye. "You are a depraved, heartless, wicked man, Marcin Jerek, with no regard for your fellow man. I curse the day that I made your acquaintance, and I pray that your sentence is nothing short of what you deserve."

"Thank you, Dr. Mallard," the tribunal leader said. "You may step down."

 **xNCISx**

Reviews welcome.


	5. Marjan's Memories

Here's the next chapter - I've been reading some of the reviews, and I'm pleased to see that the story's been getting good feedback.

 **Chapter Five: Marjan's Memories**

Ducky walked out of the chambers as quickly as he could.

His head whirled with the whole gamut of emotions: rage, guilt, heartbreak, terror, all coming together in a violent storm inside him.

In the corridor, he slumped back against the wall and sank down onto the floor, taking deep ragged breaths. He didn't care if the security guards and the other passersby out in the corridor were giving him strange looks.

He felt as if someone had just clawed a hole in his stomach and pulled out his insides by the handful.

Jerek's mocking words echoed in his head. "…weak, green stripling of a doctor, woefully unprepared…"

It was true, every word of it.

Ziva came running out from the gallery, and she gripped Ducky by the shoulder. "Ducky. Ducky, calm down," she said. "You did fine."

"I can't take it anymore," Ducky groaned.

"Ducky, come on…"

"Ziva, I can't. If they call me back for a second round with him I won't be able to make it."

"I don't think they'll need you to testify again. They were pretty thorough with you," Ziva said. She grabbed Ducky's hand and pulled him to his feet. "Come on, they're calling a lunch break."

There was a meal provided for the witnesses in the waiting room, but Ducky felt too sick to eat. Instead, he sat by a window looking out over the plaza on the complex until it was time for the proceedings to continue.

When the tribunal reconvened after lunch, Ducky went to sit in the gallery with Ziva. Several of the witnesses who now sat there looked at him as he came in and sat down, but they gave him sympathetic or curious looks.

The grandmother who had testified earlier in the day was in the seat next to Ducky's. She gave him a long look, and then she reached for his hand and squeezed it.

It was Trent's turn at the witness table. Unlike the hours that Ducky seemed to have spent answering questions, Trent's turn took only a few minutes. He looked bored and disdainful as he answered question after question about Jerek's teaching methods.

"He was the sort of instructor who would deduct a few points if you didn't inflict the right bruises on your subject's pressure points," Trent said, rolling his eyes.

The tribunal spent a few minutes more talking to Trent before letting him go.

"The tribunal now calls as its next witness Dr. Marjan Nuristani."

The woman in the plum-colored suit, the one who had been talking to the refugees in the waiting room, came into the chambers.

Ducky racked his brains as he watched the woman approach the witness table to be sworn in. It wasn't just the woman's appearance that looked familiar, but her name as well. He definitely knew her…but from where?

"Will you state your name and present affiliation for the record?" the tribunal asked.

The woman cleared her throat. "I am Dr. Marjan Nuristani. I am a psychologist and psychotherapist based in New York, specializing in victims of war crimes, abuse and trauma," she said. "I have done consulting work for the UN Commission on Human Rights and for Amnesty International."

"And your relevance to this present case?"

Marjan briefly looked down at the table. "My presence here, ladies and gentlemen, is two-fold," she said. "I am interviewing survivors from the camp for a project known as Voices From Jalozai."

"Ah, yes, we were made aware of this some months ago," one of the tribunal members said. "But if you could explain…"

"Yes, of course," Marjan said. A haunted look crossed her face. "My interest in the project, and this case, is because I am a former refugee myself. My family was in the Jalozai camp for a year starting when I was eight years old. Including during Marcin Jerek's time there."

She began to tell her story. Her family had decided to leave Afghanistan because of the conflict, but they had ended up in Jalozai while waiting for visas to get to Europe. Shortly thereafter, Marjan had become ill with pneumonia.

That's when it hit Ducky.

Marjan had been one of his patients.

One of the Doctors Without Borders people had asked him to help out in the children's section of the medical tent. There had been a little girl there, her thin frame racked with coughing as she clutched a battered plush elephant to her chest.

 _"Your Pashto is really bad," Marjan had giggled before another round of coughing overtook her. Ducky quickly steadied her until the coughing subsided, and then he gave her a plastic mug of water._

 _"Careful, now," Ducky said. "You've still got a ways to go before your lungs are all better."_

 _Marjan took a few weak sips of the water and hugged her elephant closer to herself. "Is it true that your name is some kind of duck?" she asked._

 _"It is," Ducky said. "As a matter of fact, there's an old story about how…"_

Ducky's thoughts returned to the present as Marjan continued speaking.

"I was in the medical tent for a long time. I saw men coming into the medical tent with knife wounds all over their chests," she said. "They all said one thing: Mr. Pain."

"I object to this woman being called," Creighton said harshly. "Did she actually see my client interrogate his subjects? Clearly she is here to generate sympathy for the refugees and sway the tribunal's opinion…"

"Dr. Nuristani's presence as a witness is well within the guidelines of the tribunal, Mr. Creighton," one of the tribunal members cut in. "Please continue, Dr. Nuristani."

Marjan went on to describe how her sisters, and some of the other children, had seen Mr. Pain carry out some of his "sessions." Some of those children, now adults, were still haunted by it.

"They saw things that no child should ever have to witness," Marjan said.

Creighton and Jerek continued watching Marjan with barely disguised disdain.

"Dr. Nuristani, how were you treated by the camp personnel?" a tribunal member asked.

Marjan folded her hands. "It was no secret that some of the camp personnel saw the refugees as human garbage," she said bluntly. "But others treated us with great kindness…they knew that we were a long way from home, often away from family." She paused. "And while I was sick in the medical tent, there was one person who was especially kind to me."

"And who might that person have been?" the tribunal leader asked.

Marjan paused again a moment before saying, "Dr. Donald Mallard."

A low murmur swept through the chamber.

"I feel I need to mention this, because even though this tribunal is about Marcin Jerek, there has been a lot of discussion of Dr. Mallard's history," Marjan said. "He took the time to meet with each of the patients in the tent, one-to-one, as if he were the local village doctor instead of an army medic." She paused. "He made sure that my parents were allowed to come and see me for as long as possible every day while I was sick."

Creighton said nothing, but frowned and shook his head. Jerek only smirked impassively.

Marjan went on to share how she had started the Voices From Jalozai project after getting back in touch with several former refugees – some through her practice in New York and others through various other advocacy groups.

"So, as you see, my story is only one that is being told today," Marjan said.

"Mr. Creighton, do you wish to cross-examine?" the tribunal leader asked.

Creighton conferred in a low voice with Jerek before saying, sullenly, "No questions for this witness."

"Is there anything else you wish to say, Dr. Nuristani?"

"Only that I ask that this tribunal consider all of the evidence and testimony that has been laid before it, and deliver a fair and just verdict."

"Thank you, Dr. Nuristani. You may step down."

Marjan rose from the witness table and left the chamber. Ziva turned and grinned at Ducky, and some of the other audience members were turning and nodding in approval.

Ducky sat back in his chair, slightly dumbfounded at what had just taken place.

Then he reached up and quickly wiped away a tear that was forming in his eye.

 **xNCISx**

Last chapter is up next. Reviews welcome!


	6. Parting Words

Here it is, the last chapter!

I know a few people are sad that this is the last chapter. However, I'm thinking of doing a follow-up where Ducky sits down for a chat with Mosuma Daoub at her flower shop. What do people think?

 **Chapter Six: Parting Words**

"Gibbs will want me back on duty fairly soon – from the sounds of it, Tony and McGee have been driving him crazy while we've been away," Ziva said. "But you can stay on for a little while longer. Any plans?"

"I was thinking of going over to Amsterdam for a day or two. There's a colleague who invited me to meet him for coffee if I was ever in the city," Ducky said. "And there are some museums that I'd like to see, and the Anne Frank House as well."

The tribunal had finished up for the day, at long last. Ducky and Ziva were sitting out on the plaza in the court complex, waiting for the security detail to take them back to the hotel. The sun was setting, and the air had started to grow cooler.

The proceedings themselves were far from over – it was likely that the tribunal would continue for another week or so at least. But the tribunal had concluded that there was no need for Ducky to come back and testify a second time.

At this point, there was a very strong case for a guilty verdict. Even on this first day, the evidence that Mr. Pain had tortured Javid and the refugees was overwhelming. And the tribunal had also said that Mr. Pain's intentions to torture Ducky would be taken into account at the verdict and sentencing.

"It's amazing," Ziva said. "Not once while he was up there did he show any signs that he was sorry for what he did."

"For a long time, I thought that in Jalozai, I'd seen the worst of what humanity had to offer," Ducky said pensively. "But then I think of what I've seen since then. Massacres in Bosnia and Rwanda, bombings in Northern Ireland...sometimes I wonder how I got through it all."

"I'm not sure it's supposed to get any easier," Ziva said. "I've seen a lot of things in Mossad that I'd rather not talk about. And we've seen our fair share at NCIS."

"Dr. Mallard!" a voice called from the other side of the plaza. "Officer David!"

Ducky and Ziva turned in the direction of the voice. Marjan had come out of the court building. She was now crossing the plaza at a brisk stride, her overcoat flapping behind her in the breeze. "There you are - I was afraid that you'd both left already," she said, smiling. "I was wondering if I could talk to you for a minute, Dr. Mallard."

"Certainly, by all means," Ducky said. "Is that all right, Ziva?"

"Go right ahead," Ziva said. "Tell you what. I'll go and wait for the car while you two chat."

She headed off across the plaza at a brisk trot. Marjan sat down across from Ducky.

"I do remember a little girl who never went anywhere without her favorite stuffed elephant," Ducky said, smiling.

"And I still don't," Marjan grinned, pointing to one of her bracelets. An array of gold and silver elephant charms dangled from it.

"I suppose it's true what they say, elephants never forget," Ducky said. "Have you finished testifying for the duration?"

"I'm staying on for a few more days of the tribunal, and then it's back to work for me," Marjan said.

Both of them were silent for a moment.

"You have to wonder," Ducky said pensively, "once the tribunal is completed, whether that will really be the end of it."

"I doubt it," Marjan said. "I think Jalozai is only one head on the Hydra. At the very least, Mr. Pain is getting his day in court."

"And at the end of the day, there's still all the survivors with their assorted wounds." Ducky cast a glance down at his right hand, still in its doctor-issued compression glove. "In my time with NCIS, I've found that closure can be a rather elusive beast."

"As I have seen in my own work," Marjan said. She paused. "I can't imagine that testifying today was easy for you."

Ducky shook his head slowly. "A lot of people at NCIS tried to talk me out of coming here. Said it would be too much for me, after everything I'd been through. To be honest, there were moments where I tried to talk myself out of it as well."

"What made you decide to testify?"

"I'm not sure, to be honest. I wish it was purely for a sense of seeing justice done," Ducky said. "But I wonder also if it's an attempt to find meaning in something that was so utterly meaningless." He paused. "And some of Creighton's words hit home for me. Maybe I was trying to salve my own conscience over what happened to Javid. I've been carrying it with me for so many years."

Marjan nodded, a faraway gaze in her eyes. "It's the same with me. And why I did the Voices project. It's to help people who were in Jalozai, yes, but it's also an attempt to help an eight-year-old girl put her nightmares to rest." She fiddled with the clasp on her briefcase. "My sisters and I lived in fear for years afterwards that we'd end up back in a place like Jalozai."

"What happened after you got out of the camp?" Ducky asked.

"I'll give you the abbreviated version," Marjan said. "Went to England after we got our visas, and then to the U.S. After high school, got a scholarship to Columbia. Married fifteen years, husband also a psychologist. Three kids. A house full of cats and parrots. What about you?"

"Well, NCIS, of course. Worked as an ME in London and Hong Kong. Taught a semester in South Africa in the early nineties, once met Nelson Mandela himself. Worked with a couple of UN peacekeeping and crisis response missions. Wrote a few articles for different journals."

"Wait a minute, didn't you just have something in the Journal of Forensic Psychology?" Marjan asked.

"Ah, yes, a joint project I did with young Dr. Reid from the FBI," Ducky said.

"You have been busy," Marjan laughed. Then her expression turned serious. "Dr. Mallard, I don't mean to pry, but have you ever sought counseling?"

At Vance's request, Ducky had sat down for a consultation with Dr. Cranston before returning to work full-time from his injury. But aside from that, he had not.

"I've never been keen on the idea of counseling," Ducky said. "I've always seen it much like taking a lie detector test. Opening up your thoughts and feelings for someone's scrutiny."

"I understand," Marjan said. "But all the same, if you change your mind at any point…" She opened her card case and handed Ducky a card. It was for a psychologist and therapist named Patrick Collins, and he had an office located close to the Navy Yard.

"He's an old army doctor, the same as you. He does a lot of work with war crimes victims, soldiers with PTSD, a lot of people with war-related trauma. At the very least, even if you don't want to go for a formal session with him, he'd be glad to sit down with a cup of coffee and swap war stories," Marjan said.

"Well, that at least sounds reasonable," Ducky said as he slipped the card into his wallet. "But in truth, I've been wondering…especially with what Creighton said..."

"You've been wondering if you should try to speak to Mosuma Daoub." Marjan prompted.

Ducky nodded. "Part of me is afraid that it would come across as an attempt to beg for forgiveness. What happened in Jalozai is all Mr. Pain's doing, but I'm still the one who took Mosuma's brother from her."

Marjan nodded. "About that…I actually reached out to Mosuma a month or so ago, before I was invited to testify. And she sent me this."

She reached into her briefcase and pulled out a letter. "It's the same one she sent the tribunal," she said, handing it to Ducky.

Ducky read it over, and one passage in particular jumped out at him. _"…in doing so I made a terrible, tragic mistake. There were so many things I hadn't known about what happened to my brother. I thought I was avenging Javid, but instead I attacked the one man who'd tried to help him, and us."_

The letter ended with an appeal for the tribunal to give Mr. Pain a sentence fitting what he had done in Jalozai.

Ducky lowered the letter.

Ziva came walking back up. "Ducky, the security car's ready to take us back to the hotel."

"Well, we should be on our way," Ducky got to his feet. "It was a pleasure to meet you again, Dr. Nuristani. If you are ever in my neck of the woods, you are welcome to visit us at the Navy Yard."

"And if you're ever in New York, look me up." Marjan shook hands with Ducky and with Ziva before walking away across the plaza.

Ducky and Ziva got into the car that was waiting for them. As the car pulled out into the city traffic, Ducky was lost in thought, once again.

He'd been carrying the memories of Javid and Mr. Pain around so long, he'd forgotten how much those memories weighed.

Finding meaning in the meaningless, he'd said of his reasons to testify. But that was what he, and Gibbs, and Tony, Ziva, McGee, Abby and Palmer did every day.

"How are you feeling, Ducky?" Ziva asked.

Ducky paused a moment before answering. "Better."

And he meant it.

 **xNCISx**

So what'd you think? Reviews welcome!


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